Main menu

Tag Archives: feelings

Post navigation

Recently, the topic of site traffic has been circulating around me. I’m taking a class dealing in social media, and it highlights the importance of the presence you have on your accounts, and the content you share. One day my professor asked “do you think it’s effective to be real with your audience in a blog format?” I shook my head no. I feel that the majority of people who are “real” are the fake “real”, then there are the ranters, and then there are those that post possibly to much “real” content (I fall into the last two categories). I feel that you can be surface level “real” with viewers, stating socially acceptable beliefs, and sharing your likes and dislikes. You can’t however have moments where you’re unpoised and simply write to get it out and feel the emotions. Successful blogs are the ones that have one topic (typically can’t be about your feelings, cause those aren’t consistent with one topic), are the same word count every time, and always have a crafted message that aligns with your intended topic.

As you all probably can see, this blog of mine isn’t formed around one centralized topic. I view my blog as more of a documentation of my beliefs, experiences, and thoughts over the span of my life so that I can come back periodically and see what I was thinking about or going through a year ago. Perhaps one day I’ll make a blog about one topic in particular. For now I’m comfortable with keeping it as is, anonymous and real. As the world is becoming increasingly disconnected on a deeper level and increasingly connected on a surface level, I don’t feel the need to try to get my content in the circulation with the high profile blogs.
Now I’m not intending to bash the well crafted messages of blogs that have succeeded, cause I’ll admit that I partially just don’t have one topic of interest that I’d like to fully exhaust by writing about it. The only consistent things I’ve ever written were books, because obviously I can’t vear off from the main point of my story.

Though, I have yet to encounter a high profile blog that’s “real” deep in its core, to where you know each and every flaw. The flaws are hidden because we’re scared to show our imperfection. That’s what frustrates me. We live in a world of status updates rather than full time live streaming, and compare our imperfections to the one moment of perfection displayed in a picture or a post. We begin to devalue what we have to offer as a unique individual and become demotivated to be real.

Day by day, the gun becomes more appealing. Lately I’ve been ready to shoot. I’ve picked it up very infrequently up until now. Though recently, my hand has had it gently grasped, ready to pull that trigger and kill that figure once and for all. I still don’t want to, but the figure keeps getting closer, making threats, stabbing at my heart, coming close to ripping it out. It would be much simpler to just end its existence, because that seems to be what the figure wants these days. At first I thought the figure wanted to simply provoke a reaction to finally be noticed and re-acknowledged, but since then things have changed with the figure. Assisted suicide. That’s what it wants. Or is it? I’m not quite sure…

Nobody knows. It would take attention. Intuition. A moment of not focusing on oneself. There’s beauty in this world, but there’s also an area of darkness that remains inconspicuous to most. No one notices it within others very often. It’s all internal. It’s all in our heads. Well that’s the most dangerous thing for one’s sanity. For their mental health. For their happiness. To continue going on through life, caring about others, wanting to connect to them, needing to connect to them, but not feeling the same care reciprocated. It’s like you’re that cashier that continuously asks distracted customers how they are, and wishing their ungrateful ass a good day when you finish giving them what they bought. You’re left feeling alone, while standing surrounded in a crowded room. You’re never alone in the literal sense, but you’re always alone in reality. Depth doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Intimacy is a rarity. No one knows how to connect anymore… Actually, that’s not true. No one cares. There is a lack of interest. “Focus on someone but myself? Make someone feel valued? Have genuine interest in someone? Pshh that’s too much work, I’ll just let people treat me like some amazing discovery while I remain indifferent towards them.”

Lately you may have noticed, that even though I’m posting more frequently than I have in the past, the posts aren’t long, and the content is very vague and random. Truly, there is an underlying theme, and if you deciphered hard enough, I’m sure you’d find it, but for the time being, I have to remain vague. Lately I’ve been keeping to myself about a lot of things. So by nature, I feel compelled to write it out since otherwise I would feel like a shaken up soda can ready to burst. You see, in a way, those of you who read my blog are given more insights into what’s going on in my life, and you don’t even know the half of it. Imagine those that I don’t even show a single sentence of these posts to. They are informed of even less. Originally I planned to keep this blog completely anonymous, but as of now, I have about 5 people I know in person who have access to my posts. At first I was glad to finally be able to just mutter “read my blog” to save myself the effort of reiterating a thought or idea. Though now, it’s not as nice. The moment you’re going through an unpleasant moment in your life is when anonymity appears the most appealing it ever has. I wish I could write as freely as I once did, but given the fact that it’s no longer anonymous, I can’t do that. So I will continue admitting every unfiltered detail of my thoughts and feelings, but for now, they’ll be expressed through metaphors, or vaguely described from a detached observer (referring to my post written in second person, titled: “Why They Leave”).

My body is at peace, my soul is in turmoil. Yet my soul is responsible for bringing my body the amount of nourishment it needs. I am not starving. My soul is preoccupied, and so therefore my body forgets the hunger. It doesn’t kill me. If anything, this is the medicine it needs. To truly desire the nourishment my body truly craves is a wonderful feeling. Here I am, all too often left even more indulged than I ever wanted. I feel uncomfortably full. I don’t like that feeling. So when my mind tells my body it is time to take a break from the nourishment, maybe it is trying to get my body to feel again. That overwhelmingly full feeling suppresses the satisfaction. It dampens the enjoyment of a perfect meal.

It’s not premeditated, it is simply forgetfulness. It is quite interesting that now is the time you feel the need to worry. Please don’t fret over me. I am handling myself. In fact, nothing is truly the matter at the moment. If something were, you wouldn’t have a clue. No one ever does. Though that is ok. I don’t need the council of others to help me back up when I am down. I’ve learned to deal with it on my own. If anything, handling it alone in a quiet room with some space to think and write is all I need to get back on track. If anything, all the worried words makes it worse. Remember how when you’d fall as a child, it wasn’t the pain itself that startled you, it was the gasps and worried eyes of those around you. The pain wasn’t even noticeable until it was brought to your attention. It prompts me to ask myself “is there something I should be upset about? Am I anorexic because I forgot a meal yesterday, then the next, decided I would prefer to stay in and eat a little less than an “adequate” meal?” No, it doesn’t. I am aware of how my emotions affect me, and it is simply the tunnel vision on my tasks that has me like this. Yes, I was feeling upset the other night and there are still some residual feelings, but it isn’t like these feelings weren’t present before. They have been going on for quite a while now, you just now got a glimpse of them. I didn’t intend to give you a preview of them, it just happened as a result of my will weakening. I didn’t have the energy to put on a fake facade that night.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever written about my opinions on advice. Though, no matter if I have or not, here is the updated version of what I feel about the topic. Recently I have come to realize that the more “advice” I get on how to live my life, the less I feel like those around me truly understand. I have made decisions based on my own intuition this far, and I have done quite well. I know what I can handle, I know what’s best for me, and I want to be in charge of what I do and do not regret. I feel like advice is a flowery word to mask what it truly is: others interjecting their opinion and judgement on the situation, not their understanding, and not their support.

A while ago, someone asked me if I had to pick between two extremes, which would I chose: a person who is constantly in my business, asking what’s wrong, giving advice, and being “there for me,” or someone who recedes for a while and allows me to be alone to handle my emotions on my own. At first I thought I would want the first, because I wouldn’t want the second who would “abandon” me when things got tough. Now that i think about it, I would choose the latter, because advice that lacks perspective is worse than no advice at all. Though, I’ve found that I prefer a silent presence over all. Someone I want around, who will just lay with me as I think about what’s on my mind.

Recently I’ve been thinking about the differences in the music we all listen to. For some, folk music is their preference. For others, heavy metal. Some like a mixture of things, but generally there is a primary fixation on one genre. Maybe the fixation waivers and switches to an entirely new genre all together, but for the time being, they are enamored with the genre, or particular artist. I think the common theme is that no matter who you are out of these people, or what music appeals to you, we all have one common motivation that draws us to our preferred genre. We listen to and seek the things that we identify with, but also the things that make us feel empowered. Now for those of you glancing at the screen with skepticism, I’ll explain what I mean by empowered exactly. You may think that it is surely not possible that everyone’s choice of genre could truly provide empowerment. Such as for the women who listen to sexually degrading rap and enjoy dancing/ singing along to it. Even if there seems to be an underlying conflict between the content and the audience, I still believe it can provide the empowerment that I am referring to. It isn’t the topic of the songs that is important in this instance. It is the melody, the beat, the way the voice in the song sounds, the emotions it evokes from the listener. Though, it may also relate to the topic in particular instances. Such as when that sexually degrading music is being produced by someone who has their own set of difficulties. No, I’m not saying that any misogynist should be let off the hook if they are going through a small difficultly. I’m talking about an underlying emotional turmoil of the artist. Say for instance that artist fell in love. They fell in love so deeply, and found someone that makes their life complete, there is no one else out there more perfect for them than that person. Then the artist makes a choice, or perhaps a mistake, and they are torn away from their love. Either way, or whether or not that was what led them to where they are now, they find themselves so famous, that they don’t know who talks to them for them or for their fame. There is also that factor that they’re constantly put on this pedestal by all of these people they meet. Given these circumstances, they can’t connect with anyone. No one cares to know the true them. All these people assume they already know everything they need to know about the artist as a person. They’ve listened to every word they’ve ever sung, read up on their wiki page, and saw a few interviews online, so they’re an expert on them, they know everything there is to this person. So when they meet them, there is only this bland, mundane, obsessive admiration. All of this is thrown at a person who has no clue as to a single detail of the admirer’s life. The artist may appreciate their fans very much, but I highly doubt they’d ever say they enjoy the one-sidedness of it all. Considering all that must be going through their head, mixed with regular sexual urges, you may come to the conclusion that there is a bit of disconnect. It’s no longer the sex that everyone has come to know as the norm in music— It’s not making love, It’s purely physical for this person. Mostly because those surrounding them regard them in the same light. Neither seeks to discover more about the other. So the lyrics come about from these encounters. The things they sing sound detached, because they are. They are no longer regarded as simply another soul. They live in a bubble of solitude, away from everyone else. It’s not because they started out with this detached view towards women initially, it is because they are describing all it is to them anymore. It is only the acts, only the body parts involved, only the pleasure, that they can see. My point is that even underlying lyrics that come across crude or disrespectful, there lies a back story that with the comprehension of, one could come to find themselves enjoying the music of this person. Such could also be said for music containing just about anything initially offensive. So, with all of these things, no matter what genre it is, it could happen to be the genre that leaves you feeling your most empowered.

Music can also provide catharsis that leaves us with the impression of empowerment. If you haven’t experienced or felt a sense of catharsis by listening to music, then I suggest you go searching for the music that will enable you to feel it, because it is invigorating. You feel and sense every detail of the song, every nuances with your entire body. You feel as though happiness and bliss is flooding through you. You are entranced by it, and find yourself becoming at peace. After the release, your mind is at rest, and the things that generally weigh on your mind have been lifted for the meantime.

The point of all of this random babbling is that I have come to acknowledge that the music that provides me with this feeling isn’t always everyone else’s cup of tea. Some think it is sad, overly sexual, and depressing. Well they are correct, it is all of those things and more, and I love it for each one of its components. For some reason, the music that brings me the amazing feelings I just described is the kind that possesses a sullen, dark, and sexual tone. The songs I like seem to resonate within me because they are a reflection of my energy. The more I listen to it, the more energized I begin to feel, and it feels as though I’m replenishing the energy that courses throughout my body. For me, the sadness doesn’t bring me down, it makes me feel alive. I like to hear theses kinds of songs, because you can feel the emotion. It reminds me of what it’s like to be human, where sadness is a reality. Sure, happiness is as well, but that can be faked easily. No one enjoys feigning sadness in the same manner, and even if they do fake it, there still lies a genuine ounce of hurt in their voice. I guess what it is that I love about sad songs is the potency of them.

I wrote this one day, while I was torturing myself by reminiscing about old flames. I considered not posting it, but after reading it once more, I realize that perhaps it’s not my best work, and maybe I was caught up with my emotions for that time, but this blog is my “journal” after all, so here’s what I’d write if this blog were still anonymous. For those of you who know me past my blog, I recommend you proceed with caution, cause perhaps the things I’ve written may upset you (if they’re about you or not about you). There’s no slander or anything of that kind of sort. Though I’m giving you an out now, before you begin.

*unquestionable extended*

One time you asked me how often I think about you. At the time I had actually purged you from my thoughts for quite some time, so the answer was infrequently. Recently my answer has changed. Thoughts of you have popped into my mind time and time again. The memories are painful to me. It wasn’t long, and we didn’t even go that far, but I know we could have been great and that’s what leads me to be upset. We never ran our full course. Though I want to write a billion things in a somber tone, I am determined to give this post an upbeat vibe. So here are the things I miss.

When you and I’d talk I remember seeing your smile. I’m not sure if I ever told you this, but I loved that smile. It was infectious. It also reminded me of what your personality would look like if boiled down into a smile. Stubborn, cute, obnoxious, and playful all wrapped into one.

Your personality. I’m not sure what it was, but for some reason your presence always left me content. At times a bit agitated possibly, but that’s only because you were being your extra obnoxious self that day. Along the way, I came to love that. You were only you. You told me your real thoughts on things, not just answers you’d think would align with mine. You teased me back when I was being my usual playful self. It made me happy—I had finally met my match—someone finally understood that I’m simply looking to receive the same smart ass replies that I’m giving out. Your charisma attacked me every time I saw you, it was magnetic. I remember thinking to myself before we got together that just by simply talking with you (as friends), I felt more fulfilled than I ever had, compared to how it was with my exes. Sure I had physical connections with guys, but never truly mental connections.

It frustrates me to think of the last day we had together as a couple, cause it makes me miss you. It was overcast and rainy, and you were wearing a maroon ish sweater. I’m not sure if I had told you this either, but that was my favorite shirt of yours. In it you were perfectly cuddly and soft and it made me want to nap in your arms all day.

As I’m finishing this post I’m tempted to delete it all. I’m feeling ready to give up, because it just dawned on me that if you really felt the same I wouldn’t be stuck here missing you all alone. I wouldn’t have to think of you with her.

You know, funny story. Ever since we’ve been apart I’ve been close to starting fresh with some other guy, but I can’t bring myself to follow through with it. There was one guy who I truly wanted, possibly still want, but I don’t think I can continue wanting other guys with you in the back of my mind. It’s surely not goodbye yet, but I’m afraid that’s coming soon. I need to know what your feeling or else I may have to disappear for good. I know you don’t like talking about your feelings—you’ve always been really secretive about that—but just this once I’d like you to go out on a limb and attempt to tell me whether or not I’m simply wasting my time.